On The Right Side
by wbva
Summary: While Draco accepts Dumbledore's offer to have him hidden away, Harry shows a dark side of himself, previously unknown to even himself. As a result, they are both stuck at 12 Grimmauld Place.
1. Prologue

_'Come to the right side, Draco. We can hide you more completely than you can ever imagine.'_

The same moment Professor Dumbledore and Draco vanished into thin air, Harry felt his stiff body loosen up. Immediately, his Invisibility Cloak still on, he headed for the spiraled stairs. The chaos he walked into was unbelievable. Curses flew into every direction. Every now and then, warnings and screams of agony could be heard. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Luna battling a female Death Eater. The curses cast at her all seemed to miss by an inch. Harry's eyes didn't linger upon her for too long. They had noticed a familiar figure, talking to one of the Death Eaters. It was Snape. Harry had barely had his eyes on his Potions professor for three seconds, when the man Snape was talking to nodded, then shouted something to the others.

All of a sudden, the fighting seemed to halt. Some Death Eaters threw a last curse, before following Snape, who had ordered to leave the building at once. Most closely following was Bellatrix Lestrange. At her sight, Harry could feel a fire of fury burning in his gut, remembering the events that had occurred at the Ministry, only a year ago.

He knew it. He'd always known it, Harry thought to himself. Snape belonged to the Dark Lord and always had. Regardless of what Dumbledore had told him, Harry had never believed Snape to be any better than the scum that had killed his godfather. The rage that burned inside him was indescribable now. Instinctively he followed them. He'd get that bastard, he had to.

He ran and ran and ran. The cloak was now a burden and Harry no longer cared if they could see him. As he ran down the stairs of the Entrance Hall, he took off the cloak, stuffed it in the nearest armor and started running again.

The cold wind met Harry's face, making his eyes teary and his throat dry as dust. The grounds were wet and muddy, and keeping up with the lot started to take more and more effort. Still, he was rapidly putting some distance between him and the castle. He knew that he had to act soon, that once they were outside the grounds of Hogwarts, they'd be able to Disapparate. He shouted.

Then, everything happened at once. Time seemed to speed up. Things happened too fast for Harry to register them properly. There was yelling. He was yelling. Curses were thrown, but they all rebounded.

 _'Fight back, you coward!'_

More yelling. More curses.

 _'Avada kedavra!'_

A body collapsed. Shrieking and shouting could be heard. Then, a Stunning Curse hit Harry flat in the chest, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter One

The first thing Harry became aware of was the heavy, throbbing pain in his head. It took a while before the pain had subdued enough to leave room for other thoughts. He wasn't entirely sure where he was, but it was warm and comfortable. He opened his eyes for a split second, but the light caused another wave of pain.

Vaguely, Harry noticed that other people were in the room, and that they, in turn, had noticed him. Several pair of feet seemed to make their way over to Harry, and people spoke in hushed voices. He couldn't make out who were at his bedside. Again, he tried to open his eyes. It still hurt; he blinked a few times. Slowly, painfully, the room came into focus. Beside his bed were sitting Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and of course his best friends and Ginny. He was in the Hospital Wing, he realized, as he saw Madam Pomfrey and the now familiar furniture.

'What happened?' Harry asked, not sure if asking so was a good idea. He thought deep, and could remember the cold night air and running after people. And anger, he could remember anger – so much anger.

'I – well,' McGonagall started, worry visible on her face. 'We are not entirely sure. Hagrid found you, you were lying unmoving on the ground some two hundred yards from the gate. You were Stunned. We think that you were – '

She couldn't finish her sentence. 'I was chasing Snape, and the Death Eaters,' Harry filled in, remembering.

'Ah, yes. That's what we thought. Do you remember anything else? Do you know who Stunned you?' Harry shook his head. 'Well, then. It seems that it was a pretty heated fight. The Stunning curse wasn't the only curse shot at you, you see.' A heavy silence fell. McGonagall looked as if she'd rather not elaborate. Still, Harry wanted to know.

'They tried to kill you, Mr. Potter. You're lucky to be alive. We think someone tried to kill you, but missed, hitting Professor Snape instead.'

Harry's heart stopped. It all came back to him. 'Luckily, you've got nothing too serious,' he heard Madam Pomfrey say, but he didn't register it fully. The curse hadn't missed him; he had cast it. He had killed Snape. Killed. _Fuck_. 'Just a concussion from your fall and few nasty bruises, you'll be fine within days.' What was he supposed to do now? He had to tell Dumbledore. Surely, he would understand. Snape was a traitor, after all. Dumbledore had trusted him, and instead he had been plotting with Voldemort to kill him. He knew Draco was to kill Dumbledore, encouraged him. Helped him, even. Surely, the bastard deserved to be dead. But at Harry's hands? What had he done? And how… how could he ever tell Dumbledore that his double spy had been… well, not _his_ double spy. Or did he already know?

Harry swallowed. 'Professor, where's Dumbledore? I need to speak to him. It's important.'

'Professor Dumbledore?' She asked. Her voice was shaking a bit, and she looked as though she had been expecting and dreading that question. 'I'm afraid you can't speak to him. He's no longer among us.' Shock went through Harry's body. Professor Dumbledore dead? It couldn't be. Sure, he had been in a bad state after his adventure with Harry. But dead? 'I'm sorry, Harry. He died this evening, at the Order's headquarters. He was poisoned, as you know.'

For a while, he just lay in bed, his mind completely empty and numb after the shock had begun to fade. But after a while, reality floated back into his mind, filling the emptiness. He knew he had to do – say – something.

'Professor, can I speak to you? In private?'

Professor McGonagall agreed and sent everyone away, including Madam Pomfrey, who was protesting that she hadn't finished yet. His friends hadn't said anything yet, but the look on their faces told Harry they were not happy to be excluded from the conversation.

McGonagall ensured the leaving party closed the door behind them, then returned to Harry's bed. 'What do you wish to tell me, Mr. Potter?' she asked, her voice sounding concerned.

'Snape. He was a Death Eater. He betrayed Dumbledore, Professor,' Harry said in one breath. He'd expected McGonagall to be shocked. Instead, she gravely nodded. She knew. She knew that all that time the Order had put their trust in the wrong person. Harry was relieved. She'd understand. He was sure of it. Still, how does one confess a murder?

Harry swallowed. 'Professor? I… The Killing Curse didn't miss me.' He could see his professor raise an eyebrow – surely, he lay there alive and well? 'It wasn't aimed at me, you see. I remember it now. It was aimed at Snape. I…' Harry fell silent. He couldn't. But he had to. 'It was me, who cast it.'

The witch in front him stared blankly at him. 'Harry…' Her eyes looked from him, to his wand on his bedside table, back to him. 'No… surely, not. My dear boy, it must be the concussion.' McGonagall had lost her calm disposition, no longer able to maintain her usual dignified stillness, instead fidgeting, straightening Harry's blankets, checking his temperature. 'Maybe, Madam Pomfrey was right. We should've let her go about.'

'No,' Harry croaked. It would have been a shout, but his body refused anymore extortion, it seemed. 'You don't understand. It was me. I didn't mean to, I wasn't thinking. I was angry, Professor. He was there, Snape, giving orders to Death Eaters, socializing with Bellatrix Lestrange. I realized he had betrayed Dumbledore. It made me so angry. I wanted to chase him, to stop him. I didn't mean to kill him,' Harry said, rushing through the words as not to be interrupted, 'but I did.'

McGonagall looked at Harry. She seemed to have lost all speech. Harry tried to read her face, but it he wasn't sure about what he found written on it. He wasn't sure whether it was concern, or grief, or maybe contempt and shock.

'I'm sorry, Professor. I never meant to…' He didn't finish his sentence; he couldn't stand to use the word 'kill' one more time.

'Alright, my boy, you need some more sleep. I'll see you this afternoon.'

Harry wasn't entirely sure whether she was convinced of his guilt.

Harry's sleep had been long and dreamless, and for a short while, it felt like he had woken up to the unspectacular aftermath of any given school day. But, of course, it didn't last. Rapidly, the thought of Dumbledore's passing came back to him and filled him with a sadness that didn't leave room for thoughts about Snape or murder.

The clock told Harry that it was already three o'clock and his stomach told him that he had slept through both breakfast and lunch. Thankfully, there was a plate of food on the bedside table.

McGonagall stopped by, as she had said. Concern was still written on her face, mixed with empathy. Her words, on the other hand, were straightforward and formal. The school year was over for Harry. Under the circumstances, Hogwarts was not the best place for Harry to stay. Instead, he would remain at the Order's headquarter. Departure would be the same afternoon. He needn't worry about his luggage, everything would be taken care of.

Shortly after McGonagall had left, Ron and Hermione entered the Hospital Wing. Apparently, with no Headmaster and no Potions professor, classes had been cancelled. Both flung their arms around Harry as greeting. Hermione didn't let go for a long time.

Almost immediately, they started shooting questions. They had been left in the dark by McGonagall and the rest of the order, although rumors had already started spreading around the school. Where had Dumbledore taken Harry? How had he died? How had Harry become involved in the battle? Had his battle with Snape come back to him?

Harry felt he had to tell his friends the whole truth. They had to know. When the words had left his mouth, Hermione gasped. Ron didn't seem to react at all, at first. He just blinked a few times with his eyes, before saying it served Snape well, the bastard. He had probably intended to make Harry feel better about the matter – Harry was sure his misery was written on his face – but it didn't. Hermione's gasp felt more appropriate. Of course she was shocked. Good people don't kill. And she had thought he was a good person.

There was silence for a bit, before he went on to tell them that McGonagall had arranged his departure. Then he remembered the Invisibility Cloak.

'Ron, when I was chasing Snape, I had to hide the Cloak. It's in one of the armors in the Entrance Hall. I'm not supposed to leave the Hospital Wing, I think,' Harry said. It was true that he was indeed not, but that had never stopped him before. The idea, however, of having to walk through the gossiping crowds of Hogwarts, seemed more terrifying now than it had ever done before. 'Do you think that you can get it for me?'

Ron nodded and Harry muttered a thanking before Ron turned around to leave the Hospital Wing. Harry hadn't necessarily wanted Ron to go to retrieve it right that minute, but he didn't mind. He hated to admit it, but the presence of his friends didn't bring him any solace whatsoever. He would much prefer being alone at the moment.

Hermione sat at his bedside without saying anything, for a while. Harry was grateful for the silence. Then, Hermione seemed to remember something.

'Ginny was planning to stop by tomorrow morning. She's at the Burrow, now. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley took Bill home. He was in the Hospital Wing last night, while you were unconscious. His injuries aren't too serious, I think. But Greyback got at him, so we worry he might be… well, a werewolf. Anyway,' Hermione was rambling. Harry had stopped listening, his thoughts lingering on Ginny. The usual wave of affection didn't come. Instead, it was a pressing feeling of heaviness… 'But I think McGonagall wanted the Hospital Wing all for you,'

'Obviously, you won't be here tomorrow morning. Owling her will do no good now, I'm afraid. By the time Hedwig reaches Ginny, you'll be at Grimmauld Place. However, I think I can ask Professor McGonagall if I can use her office to use the Floo Network. I'm sure Ginny would want to come over right now. Shall I go to McGonagall, Harry?'

'No, don't' Harry said. 'Thanks, but –' It had been thoughtful of Hermione to offer, but Harry had no desire to see Ginny – to see anyone, really. Hermione looked surprised, as well as a little bit disappointed.

'Just,' Harry began. 'Please, tell Ginny I am really sorry. Tell her I will write her soon. She's better off at home, right now.'

His body still sore, Harry crawled out of the fireplace in the drawing room. Its furniture was no longer a menace after the efforts made last summer, but the ambiance was still highly unpleasant. Professor McGonagall followed quickly, getting out of the fireplace a lot more elegantly.

'I'll just bring your things upstairs. Same room as last summer, Harry. You can go to the kitchen now, there will be members of the Order waiting for you. _Locomotor trunk_.'

Professor McGonagall turned around and left the room. Harry followed suit. When he passed the stairways, he could hear McGonagall curtly greet someone. Harry looked up to see a familiar figure, and froze. It was only a split-second before Draco Malfoy noticed Harry too. As their eyes locked, both stood rigid. Then, without saying a word, Harry continued his way to the kitchen.

In front of the closed door, Harry stopped. He had to take a few moments to gather enough nerve to face an uncertain amount of Order members in the light of recent events. Harry wondered if they already knew what he had done. Even if they did, he figured, he would probably have to tell them again anyway. The longer he stood, the more nervous he became. He couldn't open the door. What if Lupin would be there? What would he think of this? How disappointed he would be to find that Harry had so little self-constraint and so much hate inside him. No normal person kills because they are angry. Eventually, the door was opened for him.

'Don't be standing there like a fool, lad, come in.'

It was Mad-Eye Moody. His magical eye must have detected Harry ages ago, and his patience run out by now. Harry was half dragged into the kitchen. There were three other persons in the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt was leaning against the kitchen counter; he greeted Harry with a broad grin. On the kitchen table were sitting Remus Lupin and a woman that Harry thought was Narcissa Malfoy. Moody nodded and she silently got up and left the room.

'What are they doing here?' Harry asked as soon as Narcissa had closed the door behind her.

'Dumbledore took them here, Harry. Draco accepted his offer for protection. This is the safest place for them to be right now. Dumbledore told us you knew,' Lupin explained.

'Who says they're not here to spy on the Order?' Harry asked, incredulously. He couldn't believe the Order had taken Death Eaters in. Or, at least, that they hadn't thrown him out after they had found out about Snape.

'Dumbledore trusts they won't, Harry, and,' Lupin said, but he couldn't finish his sentence.

Harry felt a surge of anger going through his body upon hearing the explanation. 'So what? Dumbledore trusted Snape. That didn't do him much good, either.'

'And,' Lupin repeated, 'we are keeping a close tab on them. You needn't worry.'

Lupin looked Harry in the eye. Harry could see that Lupin had been up for far too long; his expression was worn and his eyes were pleading for no further resistance. 'Please, Harry. Dumbledore wanted this. We feel we should honor his wish, don't you?'

Harry nodded slowly. Something else occurred to him.

'Dumbledore. Is he… is he here? His body?'

Lupin nodded. 'Yes. Yes, he is here. However, it is important now that we speak to you about last night, Harry. You can visit Dumbledore tomorrow, when you are well-rested and better prepared. Please, sit down.'

Harry had wanted to go to see Dumbledore the minute Moody and Shacklebolt had released him from their grip, their draining interrogation finally over. It was well after midnight, Harry thought, and he had been interrogated for what felt like ages. Lupin, however, urged him to go to bed and decided he should escort Harry to his room. The minute they started ascending the stairs, Harry felt fatigue hit him. His head was throbbing from the concussion and his hip and back were sore from his fall on the cold ground.

When Harry opened the door, he saw the two beds that Ron and he had occupied a little less than a year ago, as well as the empty portrait of Nigellus Phineas Black. He also noticed that the trunk resting on his bed wasn't his own. His, in fact, stood beside Ron's bed. After studying the trunk briefly, he concluded it belonged to Malfoy. Harry let out a groan. As he considered his options, Harry couldn't help but wonder whether Professor McGonagall had failed to notice that there was already a trunk in this bedroom, or had failed to notice there were more bedrooms available in the house.

Harry absolutely did not want to share his room with Malfoy. However, his trunk was heavy and he was tired and not allowed to use magic. Finally, he decided that he would probably fall asleep within seconds, anyway. He wouldn't notice Malfoy's imminent presence until the morning. Then, Mafloy could have another bedroom assigned and everything would be fine.

He unpacked his pyjamas from his trunk, not really feeling like bothering to do so, but also not feeling like sleeping in his boxers in Malfoy's presence. Harry did not make the effort to put the rest of his stuff back in his trunk, but immediately crawled underneath the sheets. It seemed that he had fallen asleep before he had even closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter Two

Harry looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was only seven in the morning, but he was wide awake. He sat up and put his legs to the floor. In front of him, on the other side of the room, Harry could see a body, lying perfectly still. For a moment Harry contemplated whether he should wake the git and see him out of his bedroom, but he decided against it. Seven o'clock was a too early an hour to seek out a confrontation. That didn't mean that Harry was planning to play nice with Draco, and so he didn't bother to be silent or leave the lights off when he put on his clothes.

Although he didn't think it very likely that there were other people residing in the house beside the Malfoys and him, Harry still made a point of going down the stairs silently. While descending, he was sure he could feel the house-elves' beady eyes staring at him. It unsettled him badly enough to miss the last step. He stumbled and fell, making enough noise to wake a resident he had completely forgotten about. The curtains in front of him flew open, and Mrs. Black presented herself in full glory.

 _'Shame brought upon the noble house of my fathers! Blood traitors, filth. Such dishonor!'_

When she saw who had been the person to disrupt her so early in the morning, she stopped her usual repertoire with a gasp.

 _'MURDERER!_ ' she bellowed. _'You vermin; filthy Slytherin murderer! Oh, the noble house of Slytherin... BEREFT BY YOU.'_

Harry couldn't get himself to move, let alone to do something about the scene playing out in front of him. He just stood there and let the shrilling shrieks wash over him, followed by waves of pain in his still sensitive brain. Soon, Tonks came storming out of the kitchen. As soon as Mrs. Black caught sight of her, she began wailing about disgrace brought upon the Black family. Tonks frantically started pulling at the curtains, returning the insults with equal fury and a few added swears.

At last, the house returned to its usual quiet.

'Oh, Harry, good to see you! I was hoping I'd run into you one of these days. Quick, come to the kitchen,' Tonks babbled, grabbing Harry by his arm and pulling him along with her. He was dropped onto one of the kitchen chairs. Tonks sat down next to him.

'I didn't think you would be up this early. When I heard my dear great aunt, I was quite surprised. Usually, only Narcissa is up at this hour, and she is much too… elegant to make noise. Still, thought she must have knocked something over, so I didn't do anything. Narcissa and her boy seem to know how to handle the monstrous woman. Only when I heard her screaming about – ' She didn't seem to dare finish her sentence.

Harry had been caught by surprise by Tonks' sudden appearance. He had expected her to be home, but the tired look on her face told Harry that she must have been out all night, busy for the Order. It was a pleasant surprise, she had seemed happy to see him and the feeling was mutual. However, the implicit mention of Snape made him feel uncomfortable.

'Really, though, it's quite a relief that for once I'm not the person making her come out from behind her curtains.' Tonks grinned.

'So ehm,' Harry began. 'What brings you out here at this ghastly hour?'

'I had guard duty, you see. When I was done, I thought I'd bring some food to you all here. Figured Moody might be so busy with keeping you all from being killed, he might accidentally starve you,' she said, pointing to a pile of food on the kitchen counter.

'Do you mind?' Harry asked as he stood up. Upon seeing the food, he had realized he could do with some breakfast. Tonks shook her head. Harry saw a kettle and poured some water in it to make tea, before investigating the pile. After considering his options, he decided to go for some toast and a juicy looking orange.

Harry put down a cup of tea in front of Tonks and set himself down to eat.

'I heard Moody had a go at you, last night. Hope he hasn't been too hard on you. He can get horribly carried away sometimes. Doesn't have much consideration for other people, when that happens,' Tonks said. Harry nodded, thinking that she must have experienced it many and many times, having had him as her supervisor.

'Remus was there,' Harry said, 'he tried not to make it last too long. But well, it was still well after midnight. It was, well, tiring, I guess. I'd rather not think about it, in fact.'

The rest of the conversation was light and meaningless, and Tonks' yawns started to follow each other more rapidly. Harry thanked her for doing groceries and bid her goodnight. When he had finished his orange, he threw his plate in the sink – someone who could magically do the dishes should do them, Harry thought. Then, he made his way back upstairs, careful not to make any noise this time; he didn't think he could stand another episode this morning.

When he opened the door to his room, he was hoping with all his might that Malfoy was still asleep, or gone. The latter seemed to be the case, so Harry walked to his trunk at ease. He was rummaging through his stuff to find parchment and a few schoolbooks, when he heard the door open. He looked up to see Malfoy walking up to him in long, resolute strides. Before Harry could even open his mouth to say something, he felt a fist crash into his face. Harry stumbled back, his ankles hitting the trunk, almost falling over onto his bed. At the last moment, he regained his balance. Harry was so dumbstruck that it didn't even occur to him to launch himself at Draco. Instead, he just stared at the boy in front of him.

'I heard Mrs. Black, this morning.' Draco's voice was small and shaky and the determination with which he'd stalked towards Harry, seemed to have left his body the moment of impact. Draco didn't seem to know what to do next, his uncertain eyes lingering on Harry's filled with confusion. 'You killed him,' he whispered. Hearing his own words, the anger stirred again within him. 'You, you, ah fuck,' Draco said, now holding onto the fist with which he had punched in pain, taking in the damage he himself had inflicted in the collision between fist and face.

'How could you?'

Only now, Harry noticed a warm sensation on his face. Slowly, he brought his hand of to his face, where he found blood was gushing out of his nose. He quickly ran his finger along his cheekbone, which had also been hit, and thought he could feel a bruise starting to form. He pinched his nose closed. When he realized just how heavily it was bleeding, he held his other hand underneath it to serve as a cup, so as not to bleed all over the carpet and made his way past Malfoy, towards the bathroom.

Bent over the sink, waiting for the bleeding to stop, he reflected on what had happened. It struck Harry how affected Malfoy seemed to be by Snape's death. After a little while, he figured it was only natural. After all, Snape had been his guide through his entire school career, much like Dumbledore had been to Harry. Of course, Harry couldn't help thinking, much of Snape's guidance had consisted of blatant favouritism. Regardless. He thought about the loathing he had felt for Malfoy when the roles were revers, when he was watching him point his wand at Dumbledore, threatening to kill him. It had sickened Harry to see how desperate Malfoy was, that he had even been capable of attempting such an action.

It was that exact moment when it hit Harry, the amplitude of what he had done. He had killed a man. He had done what Draco could not. Not even because he was forced, not because his parents were threatened. He had just… killed. Out of anger and hate. Simply because he couldn't bear to see the person alive. The realization of what kind of monster he was lurched at his insides so violently that he had to throw up. He heaved and he heaved again. When he thought he was done throwing up, he saw the blood from his nose mixed with his own vomit, and he had to throw up again. Without looking, he opened the tap. He let it run for a while, then let the water drain away. He repeated the action a couple of times and the sink slowly cleaned itself.

The bleeding of his nose that had almost stopped before, had begun again, and Harry was left with a dirty sour taste in his mouth. He went to get his toothbrush from his trunk. Malfoy was reading a book on his bed, his right hand lying limp next to him. Silently, without making eye contact, Harry got what he needed and disappeared again.

Draco, Harry realized, had been the first one to show anger for what Harry had done – that is, if you don't count Mrs. Black, and Harry thought senile portraits shouldn't count. In fact, he had been the first one to even condemn his actions. So far, all Harry had got were reactions of concern met with disbelief and sometimes a tinge of disappointment, but that was it. Being met with the hatred Harry realized he deserved was almost refreshing. The interrogation with Moody and Lupin had been horrible. Harry had had to tell every single detail he could remember – which was mostly anger, and a couple of curses he had tried before taking more drastic measures – and they had just listened. Moody had been completely stoic, showing neither approval nor disapproval. Lupin had even shown sympathy, telling him on his way upstairs that Harry couldn't blamed. But Draco knew the truth, as did Harry. It had been a repulsive action, driven solely by hate.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what Dumbledore would have thought of him, knowing he had killed someone. Harry thought he had known Dumbledore well enough to know that, regardless of the fact who and why Harry had killed, he would not have approved. He remembered the conversation he had had with his headmaster at the end of his second year. Dumbledore had known that Harry had abilities to devastate, but he never would have suspected Harry to use them. Imagining the disappointment that would have shown in Dumbledore's eyes, Harry felt worse than he had since that fatal night. At the thought of Dumbledore, Harry's feet instinctively started to carry Harry towards the room in which he knew Dumbledore lay in state. When he reached the door, he didn't dare enter, scared of what he would find – half hoping the room would be empty, that Dumbledore had walked out of the room early in the morning after a night of deep sleep.

When Harry did slowly open the door, he could see a pair of feet. He had to force himself to open the door entirely and step into the room. Closing the door behind him, it felt as if Harry's existence reached no further than the four walls between which he was held, and that the rest of the world had simply faded away into nothingness. Observing his mentor's body, Harry found that he felt surprisingly little. He wasn't sure what he had expected of this visit. Maybe, he thought he would have broken down in sobs, wishing he'd been dragged along into the great unknown. Maybe, he had expected great shock at a most gruesome sight. Neither came even remotely close. In fact, his mind was in a calm, analytic state. Harry noticed how Dumbledore was wearing the same dress robes he had worn when the two of them set out to collect the locket. The locket which, he realized in that moment, he didn't have anymore. It didn't seem to matter. His eyes rested for a while on the hand that had looked like it had started to deteriorate long before Dumbledore had been dead. Harry still didn't know what had caused it. Vaguely, he wondered if a functioning hand might have saved Dumbledore, but he doubted it. Another thing that sprang to Harry's attention was the room's smell. He would have expected a corpse to smell badly. The room however, smelled quite pleasantly, a fresh smell that Harry thought had a hint of orange to it. For half an hour, Harry stayed in the room, leaving his eyes to wander Dumbledore's body. As Harry was contemplating all the moments he had shared with Dumbledore, tidal waves of self-hate were alternated by tsunamis of hate for Snape, washing over him and leaving him to feel cold and stiff. Finally, he couldn't bear it any longer, and left the room.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was cool and dim. The small windows in the wall opposite of the door to the hallway were so dirty that they allowed only a small amount of light to enter the room. Even so, Harry could tell that the weather had to be a lot better than it had been the last time Harry had been outside. He held a glass underneath the tap and let it fill. Slowly, he made his way towards the door that he assumed would lead him to the garden. When he stepped outside, he felt the most wonderful combination of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of a fresh breeze caressing his skin. The sky was stark blue. He took a look around the garden. He was standing on the patio, on which a round cast iron table stood, with four cast iron chairs around it and several flower pots on the sides of the patio. It was a few meters deep. A stairway led down to the rest of the garden. It was narrow, like Harry would have expected from a garden the heart of London, but incredibly deep. Harry couldn't believe that any garden in the center of a metropolitan city could be so large; he figured it was magically enlarged. The garden was enclosed by a high dry stone wall, maybe two meters tall. Dark green ivy was growing on most of the wall. Harry thought that the garden, although neglected, looked beautiful. A cobble path leading to the back of the garden had become almost invisible under the moss and the weeds. Trees and bushes were scattered around the place, not allowing Harry to look all the way into the back of the garden, leaving him wondering just how deep the garden was. The only part of the garden that looked like attention had been paid to it in recent times was a small patch of soil that Harry recognized as a kitchen-garden, although it did not have vegetables in it like carrots or tomatoes. Some of the plants Harry could identify because he had learned about them in Herbology classes. Others were a complete mystery to him.

Harry had set himself down in one of the chairs on the patio and was enjoying the feeling of sunshine on his skin, eyes closed, when he heard movements from further back in the garden. He opened his eyes, and saw a figure making their way towards the house. As they came closer, he recognized them as Narcissa Malfoy. She did not look as well-composed or as neat as usual. Instead, she had several streaks of mud on her face, and her otherwise so carefully groomed hair was up in a messy bun. When she noticed Harry observing her, she cast a smile. As she came closer, however, she screwed her face up in a frown a little, before returning to a neutral facial expression.

'Why, Mr. Potter. Good morning,' she said politely. 'Would you mind if I joined you? I'll just get something to drink, then I will be right back, if you consent.'

Harry nodded. Shortly after, Mrs. Malfoy returned, carrying a glass of iced tea with her. When she saw Harry's empty glass she apologized – how impolite, she thought he had had something to drink still. Harry waved it away and invited her to sit.

'Had a rough morning, Mr. Potter?' the woman asked, gesturing at his bruised and swollen face. Harry felt unsure how to answer that question. Really, he didn't feel the need to tell Mrs. Malfoy that her son had lunged himself at him.

'You could say that,' Harry murmered.

'Would you like me to patch you up? You really do look ghastly, I am afraid.' Unsure how to answer that statement, Harry just nodded and said a thank you.

Swiftly, Narcissa took Harry's chin in her hand and turned his head to look at her. She did it with surprising softness and elegance, automatically guiding his head in the right direction rather than pulling at it. The soft touch subdued Harry's unease at the thought of having a Death Eater's wand inches away from his face. She uttered some simple healing spells, articulating with utmost precision. Harry was sure he could have done it himself, even if he wasn't too experienced with Healing Spells, but let her go about. Narcissa Malfoy took her time to make sure the job was done neatly and thoroughly. This gave Harry the opportunity to examine her from up close. Even though her appearance was not immaculate as normal, Harry still thought her the epiphany of elegance. The features on her face were soft and, while not friendly, polite. She really was a fair woman. The clothes she was wearing were unlike anything Harry had imagined a Malfoy to wear, but that might have been because she was working out in the garden. It missed the usual stiffness that he associated with a Malfoy. The skirt she was wearing reached just above her ankles and was light and airy, a sallow blue. Above the skirt, she was wearing a blouse that was off-white. The sleeves were rolled up, which brought Harry to notice her perfectly pale arms. She did not have the Dark Mark. It surprised Harry. He desperately wanted to ask her about it, but felt it was inappropriate, especially with her wand so close to his face.

'It was Draco, I take?' she asked him.

'Sorry?' Harry hadn't been paying attention. What had been Draco?

'Your face, of course, Mr. Potter,' Narcissa said in an almost amused tone. 'Snape was right about your attention span, then,' she mused. Harry had really – really – wished that she hadn't said that.

'You know,' she said after examining Harry's worried face for a short while, 'I don't blame you.'

She must have noticed the surprised look on his face, because she continued: 'The Wizarding world is in a war, Mr. Potter. Your side is better off without Snape.' Harry wanted to protest, say that it didn't matter that it was better for his side - it had been morally wrong – but he kept his mouth shut. Although Mrs. Malfoy missed the obvious air of authority around her, Harry felt that, much like Professor McGonagall, she was not someone to go against.

'When Draco heard my dear aunt, he let his emotions take a run with him, I imagine. He is horribly upset – how can he not be? You must understand that. I hope you haven't done him too much damage.' Mrs. Malfoy's voice was benevolent, friendly even, as she was talking about her son.

'I didn't hit back,' Harry said. As he said it, he felt both proud and shameful. Shameful, because he had just stood there and let himself be punched, too flabbergasted to do anything about it. Proud, because he felt Draco had had every right to want to punch him, and for once he had not launched himself at the boy like some sort of animal.

'Although, I guess, my face was harder than he'd expected – I think he might have broken his hand when punching me.'

Narcissa Malfoy smiled. 'I suppose he is still walking around with it. Merlin knows his Healing Spells aren't nearly as good as his Healing Potions.'


	4. Chapter Three

_A/N:_ _There was some trouble with the coding earlier, but now everything should be fine. Let me know if you run into any more problems. Thank you all for reading, I'm enjoying writing it a lot!_

Three days had gone by without much notice. Any time of day, Order members buzzed in and out of the house, checking in for business or just checking in to see how Harry was doing. After diner, Harry was shooed out of the kitchen, where meetings were held well into the night.

The second night the clock had struck eleven when Arthur Weasley fled the discussion and joined Harry in the drawing room. Harry had been reading a book on the Dark Arts noncommittally – fully aware he was not going to find anything useful in it, but with lack of better things to do. Mr. Weasley settled himself in the armchair next to Harry's, who put the book down. Harry could not say that he cared much for conversation at the moment, but felt he could not send Arthur away either. They engaged in a brief conversation in which Harry tried wriggling information out of Mr. Weasley about the Order meetings – he was practically of age, what was their problem? – and in which Arthur requested Harry to send an owl to the Burrow – everyone was anxious to hear from him. Then, Harry eagerly accepted the invitation to a game of Wizard's chess, and very few words were exchanged after that. Harry thought Ron was better than his father, but he lost regardless.

The night after, it was Kingsley Shacklebolt that wanted Harry's attention. The 'incident' had been discussed within in the Ministry, and it had been decided not to prosecute Harry. It had not yet crossed his mind what legal consequences his actions might have, but if he had thought about it, he would have been fairly sure Azkaban would be the most likely option.

'But, how's that possible? I cast an Unforgivable. I thought they were… well, unforgivable.'

Shacklebolt laughed darkly.

'Harry, surely, you understand that these are not normal circumstances. This is a war, my boy. You're fighting on the Ministry's side now. In fact,' the man said, 'Dumbledore thought you are our only hope. The Wizarding Community can't afford to have you behind bars,' and with that, he turned around and headed straight back into the meeting, leaving Harry bewildered.

Now, it was Wednesday afternoon and the weather seemed to have made a 180-turn since Harry's arrival a few days ago. Outside, the sky was grey. Standing in front of the bedroom window, looking out, there was an unusual amount of draught for June, Harry thought. The mopish and grim weather seemed to reflect on Harry's state of mind.

The past few days had crept by slowly, too slowly in Harry's opinion. He had spent most of his time browsing through his schoolbooks, in search for useful spells, but found hardly any new ones that could spark some interest within him. Then there were some books Hermione had borrowed from the library – Harry wondered idly if she knew that they were most likely never to be returned – on the subject of Dark Arts, but none of them seemed to be dark enough to be useful in his quest for Horcruxes. All in all, Harry's attempts to make some sort of progress had been pathetically futile.

An owl almost crashed into the window Harry was staring out of, and Harry jumped up in surprise. Quickly, he opened the window and took the envelope from the animal. A cold wind got in and Harry hurried to get the owl back outside, shoving in the window shut.

Harry opened the envelope and started to read the neat handwriting that was Hermione's.

 _'Hi,_

 _Sorry for not contacting you before, we've been horribly busy. McGonagall gave us the locket you had on you after returning with Dumbledore. We wanted to return it as soon as possible, but then we had a look at it. I think it is a distinct possibility that it's not the locket you were looking for. We found a note in it, I put it in the envelope as well. You should read it._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

 _P.S. For the love of things, owl Ginny. We're all at the Burrow and she's growing more anxious by the day. It is disconcerting to watch.'_

He had read both the letter and the note several times. Slowly, a dark feeling of sadness and anger crept over him, as he realized that the whole journey and Dumbledore's consequent death had been for naught. For his own comfort, he chose to ignore the postscript for now, even if the feeling of guilt in his gut had started to grow a little bit.

Getting a piece of parchment, he wrote down the only words he could think of right now.

 _'WHAT?!_

 _Love,_

 _Harry'_

Fetching Hedwig from the room on the third floor that she had been put in by McGonagall, he tied the piece of parchment to his owl, before sending her off.

He needed tea - badly.

Dinner that evening was a lively happening with a handful of members of the Order staying over. The table had been magically enlarged, leaving almost no space to walk around the kitchen. Molly served two entire roasted chickens with mashed potatoes and veggies, which was met with much enthusiasm. Accidentally having skipped lunch, Harry's stomach growled and roared at the sight of it. He helped himself to a plate quickly and dug right into his meal, forgetting all about his conversation with Shacklebolt about his time as an in-the-field Auror.

At the very end of the table, blocking the door to the garden, were sitting both Malfoys. Two pair of eyes were extremely focused on the plates before them, being careful not to make eye contact with anyone, should they think it an incentive to start a conversation. The eyes only looked up every so often to meet each other's. When that happened a few words were exchanged in subdued voices, after which both looked down again. Mrs. Malfoy managed to look surprisingly graceful, even polite, in her self-exclaimed exile from the rest of the group. Draco on the other hand, Harry thought, had discomfort written all over his face. He sat upright, his back straight, and still Harry thought he looked small and pathetic.

When dinner was over everyone got ready for the usual meetings. Harry offered Molly to help with the dishes. It was more out of hope to be able to stay in the kitchen unnoticed during the meeting than out of pure politeness, but Molly was onto him. Disappointed, he made his way out of the kitchen. Before he got up the stairs however, he heard his name called out.

Professor McGonagall was standing at the bottom of the stairway, wearing her 'we need to talk'-face. Feeling something between curiosity and apprehension, Harry turned on his heels and made his way back down again.

'Mr. Potter, good to see you,' she said pleasantly yet formally. 'We need to speak about your summer plans, I'm afraid.'

 _Summer plans?_ This couldn't be good.

'Professor Dumbledore's funeral will be in two days, at Hogwarts. You can of course attend. The funeral will also announce the end of the school year. Afterwards, you will have to go… home.' McGonagall seemed hesitant about using the words, and rightfully so, Harry thought. 'We have contacted your family, and they will be there to pick you up as usual.'

Harry inwardly groaned. Of course, it had been self-evident that he had to go back to the Dursleys, but it simply hadn't caught his attention yet. The news that he was going back to Privet Drive in two days struck like a dull blow to his stomach and it made him slightly sick.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' his Transfiguration professor said sincerely. 'You know there's no other option.' He couldn't find any polite words, so instead he just nodded. His rational side knew it would be pointless to be rude to McGonagall. Don't shoot the messenger, he thought to himself.

'I'll make preparations,' he said at last. McGonagall gave him a curt nod, then turned to join the meeting in the kitchen. Harry was left once again left to his own devices, standing in the hallways without purpose and without a clue what to do next. Steering clear away from the troubling thoughts about the, what? weeks, months, years? to come, he focused on the problem right in front of him: how to pass yet another evening in this place. It had only been a couple of days, and he was already starting to understand how Sirius must have felt pretty well.

It was far too early to go to bed, Harry thought as he saw the clock. Only really old and really young people went to bed at nine thirty, but the book he had been reading failed to spark his interest any longer, and he really didn't know what else to do anymore, besides to sleep. When he thought about it, Privet Drive was not much worse than this place. He couldn't stand still being kept in the dark most of the time. Between Still, he would rather spend his days in the Wizarding community, staying up to date with the latest developments.

The only thing that had seemed to lift his spirit that evening was the return of Hedwig, but even that had proven to be a disappointment.

 _'Hi,_

 _I know, right. Now, don't you dare send any more owls to me - or Ron – before you have owled Ginny. You cannot ignore her, Harry. I will not stand for it. She's making life a living hell for us._

 _Hermione'_

He knew that he should write Ginny. However, ever since the incident, as everyone had started calling Snape's death to Harry's dismay, he got a heavy, sinking feeling every time he thought of her. The days spent by the side of the lake seemed from another lifetime. Trying to think of happy memories, summon happy feelings, he was met with nothing but emptiness. It was as Ginny was in another dimension, beyond the veil. Or maybe he was. At any rate, he didn't know how to reach her. What was he supposed to say? H _ey, love, bored out of my mind. Sharing a bedroom with sodding Malfoy, other than that nothing interesting going on. Can't say I particularly miss you, although I must confess my morning wood is getting increasingly persistent._ No. He was going to write her, just… not today. And anyway, she was going to have to get used to it. Surely she can't expect an owl every other day when he's out Horcrux-hunting?

'Jesus Christ,' Harry exclaimed in shock.

'What?'

'Why are you sitting in the dark?'

Outside, daylight was fading fast, leaving the house in an even denser darkness than already was the case during the day. Wandering aimlessly through the house, Harry had almost overlooked the shadow that was sat in the sofa on the far side of the drawing room. In the split-second before he realized it was Draco, the wildest thoughts had crossed his mind as to the identity. Trying to regain his composure, looking as unshaken as possible, he looked Draco up and down, awaiting his answer. It didn't come.

'Wanna play chess?' Draco asked, quasi-casually. Harry was dumbstruck.

'What?'

'Chess,' repeated Draco, as if it was the most obvious request in the world.

'Yeah, I heard, I – ' It didn't come out as snarky as Harry had intended it, for he was too puzzled as to Malfoy's intentions put any true poise in his words.

'You play, right? I saw you with Mr. Weasley the other night.'

'I do, I just – ' But Harry couldn't get a word in edgeways.

'I bet I'm better than Mr. Weasley,' Draco continued.

Harry wasn't sure how that was supposed to convince him to play. 'I lost to Arthur,' he simply said.

'Perfect. Turn on the lights, will you?'

The game turned out to be a long, dragged out affair. Draco wasn't better than Arthur, but he sure was a lot more patient than either Arthur or Harry. Draco played defensively to an extreme, placing half-hearted attacks only to lure Harry out of his den. A painful, slow slaughter of Harry's troops ensued.

Harry blamed his ultimate loss on the fact that Malfoy seemed to be waging a battle on another front as well, distracting him from the board between them.

'You know, I figured The Chosen One would be allowed in on the ever so secret stuff they are doing back in the kitchen,' Draco said.

Harry laughed wryly. 'Tell me about it.'

Malfoy snickered along with him. Looking at the amused face across from him, Harry thought that maybe spending the summer with a Malfoy wouldn't be so bad. He wondered if there was a way around going to the Dursleys. At least, until he realized that the git was only laughing about the mistake Harry had just made, putting his queen and a bishop in a fork.

Looking for but not finding a way to retaliate on the board, Harry instead turned to words as well.

'If you want, I'll help you drag your trunk to the room next to mine.'

Draco snorted. 'We've had this discussion before. You invaded my room, not the other way around.'

'You invaded my house,' retorted Harry.

'You wound me, Potter. And anyway, that's rich coming from the one person in this house that can't seem to shut up Walburga,' spoke Draco the last few just as Harry instructed his bishop to make a move. In surprise, he sent it to the wrong position.

'You're on first name basis with the portrait?' His regard for Draco was falling quickly again.

'Of course, she was my favourite aunt. Came over for tea every Sunday.' Draco said, nodding in accordance with himself.

'You're kidding. Wasn't she long dead before you were around?'

The flicker in his eyes betrayed Draco. 'Yeah, no, I lied. Mad as a hatter, if I am to believe my parents. Died when I was five, I only met her once or twice. Smelly woman, I recall'

Harry grinned, then suddenly realized something. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of this before. He knew it was a sensitive topic, and he guessed Remus could probably answer his question, but curiosity had grabbed hold of him.

'Can I ask you something?'

'What?' Draco asked cautiously.

'What happened to – I mean, where's Lucius?'

Draco's expression was blank, he had shifted his gaze to the board and without word made the next move. The silence frightened Harry.

'Is he -?' Harry asked, but was promptly interrupted.

'Merlin, no, he's not dead. He's at the Manor, I reckon. It's your turn.' With a sense of relief, Harry released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. To pacify Draco, he shoved a pawn forward without paying much mind.

'I'm sorry if I disappointed you,' snarled Draco. Harry had already opened his mouth, but didn't get the chance to say a word. 'And no, he doesn't know we are here, so don't worry.'

Harry contemplated the right response, but couldn't find it.

'Where does he think you are?'

'He has no idea what happened, let alone where we are. To him, we just vanished, without warning. Still, it's better this way. He is not a skilled Occlumens like my mother. At least they'll know he's telling the truth when he says he had nothing to do with it. Of course, he'll be punished for it regardless, one way or another.'

Harry's mouth was dry. The calm in Draco's voice terrified him.

'I'm sorry,' he managed.

'It's alright, it's hardest on my mother.' Draco shrugged, for the first time that evening making a move that Harry could profit from.

'Your mother is nice,' Harry said, and he meant it.

'Yeah, she is.' Draco said, a smile on his face, in the same breath as he gave an order to his knight. The sympathy Harry had felt for him flooded away. Harry had taken a rook in a victorious moment, but now consequently had to watch his queen get dragged off the playing board.

'I have a consolation prize,' Draco said, reaching in his pockets. 'It's from Dumbledore, he told me to give it to you.'

Harry was taken by surprise, yet again this evening. He took a small flask from the outreached hand. Immediately, he recognized the white strands dancing around in their container to be memories. A small piece of parchment, tightly rolled up, was attached. His heart started racing, his whole body filled with hope. Dumbledore had left him something. These memories would lead the way. Soon, he'd know what to do next.

'What's in it? Did you watch it?'

'No, of course not,' Draco said indignantly.

'Is there a Pensieve around?' Harry asked, impatient to find out what last thing Dumbledore had left to tell him.

'You can't watch it yet,' Draco said hurried. His eyes anxiously shot from Harry to the wall behind him, and back, not daring to hold his gaze. Still, there was an undeniable defiance in them.

Harry looked incredulously at Draco.

'What? Dumbledore gave it to me. It's mine to watch.'

'Not yet. You can't watch it yet. Read the note, Dumbledore said – '

'Why would Dumbledore give anything to you?' Harry snapped, rising to his feet. His nostrils flared. He couldn't believe it. He had valuable information in his hand, and Malfoy of all people was trying to deny him the right to watch it.

'Because I was the only one around. Trust me, I'd rather I hadn't been the one to sit at the headmaster's deathbed, either,' Draco said equally heated, and now on his feet as well. His retort seemed to shut Harry up alright, and he continued in a calmer fashion: 'No one was here when we arrived, all the Order members present that night were at Hogwarts, naturally. He Side-Apparated me to the doorstep, the strain of the Apparition made him collapse right at the doorstep. He only just managed to allow me into the Fidelius. I had to drag him inside and levitate him to that sofa there,' he nodded at the sofa closest to the door into the hallway. 'He seemed to recuperate from the Apparition a bit after I'd gotten him some water. He explained me he had been poisoned, though he didn't tell me how or why. Then, he cast a Patronus. I've never seen anything like it before, he spoke to it, just a short message, to get my mum. Ordered it to go to someone I didn't know, and off it was. He slid off into a slumber, to my relief. It was maybe half an hour later that a new Patronus arrived and woke Professor Dumbledore from his sleep, if only just. I thought it would contain information about my mother, but I instantly recognized McGonagall's voice – I guess I should have recognized the cat straightaway, but anyway. It said that, well… that Snape was dead.'

A silence fell. Harry felt like a deer in headlights, unable to look away from the disaster before him. The glare that he was met with was frightening. For a second he thought Draco would take a swing at him, and readied himself to hit back. But Draco didn't try to hit him.

'MERLIN!' Draco shouted, cried almost, and he swept the chess pieces of the board with great force. 'You don't even know what you have done.'

Harry wanted to protest that statement, but a screeching noise from the hallway got his attention. Draco's outburst had been loud enough to wake the cursed portrait.

'He was on the right side,' Draco had muttered, but Harry didn't hear for he had turned around and was now storming into hallway. Mrs. Black was screaming at the top of her lungs, producing an ear-deafening amount of decibel for the second time that day. A particular nasty insult made Harry lose his temper.

'SHUT UP. SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU UGLY WITCH.'

He tried dragging the curtains shut, but they wouldn't give in. Mrs. Black's fury for him was at least as great as his for her, she wouldn't budge. Frustrated, Harry gave up, and made his way back to the drawing room.

Slamming the door shut, he cast a wandless Silencio, but didn't quite succeed. It wasn't as loud anymore, but the sound now came in as if through a badly tuned radio, with a lot of noise. He paced the room nervously, torn between an all-consuming sense of anger and a desire to explain to Draco. Draco's voice made him stop dead in his track.

After having taken a deep breath, the blond continued his recalling of events as if the dramatic interruption hadn't occurred at all. 'After hearing the news, it was like a surge of life went through Dumbledore. In an instant he was sitting, upright, bidding me to get parchment, and like a madman, he started to write.'

Harry frowned. 'What did he write? To who?'

'Letters. McGonagall and someone I don't know, he told me to give to McGonagall as well. Abe-something? No idea.' The name didn't ring any bells with Harry either.

'What was in the letters?' Harry burned with curiosity. Again, he was filled with a sense of hope. Dumbledore had left instructions. There were people out there who could help him, who knew how to move forward from this point.

'I'm not in the habit of reading other's people's correspondence, Potter.' The Slytherin looked at Harry defiantly, daring Harry to say something insulting back. But all of a sudden, Harry's head felt far too heavy to go into another confrontation. At the last moment, the seemingly uneventful day had taken a turn that left Harry exhausted.

'Right, I'm going to bed.' More to taunt than because he thought it might actually work, he added: 'I suggest you remove your stuff from my room while I'm in the shower.'

'I won't, but sweet dreams.' Draco's voice wasn't altogether unfriendly anymore, and the air between almost felt light, like the beginning of the evening. Harry nodded and made his way to the door.

Before Harry could leave the room, Draco spoke one last time. 'Seriously, though. Don't watch the memory. Dumbledore was really insistent on it. Don't watch it, please don't.'

There was no response. Harry was intrigued by the words that had just left the pale, thin mouth on the other side of the room. The please was very curious indeed. Pondering, he stepped into the hallway. The Order meeting must have ended a good while ago, the house now deserted, because he was greeted by an ill-humored Mrs. Black who was still screaming murder. Instantly, she turned her attention to him. A waterfall of curses and insults hit him. He didn't even register the words properly, instead fascinated by the hard, icy eyes that were staring at him with a murderous intent. For the first time, he noticed the family resemblance between the woman and his roommate.

'Well, good evening, Mrs. Black. I am awfully sorry we have interrupted your quiet,' Draco said, having stepped in front of Harry, positioning himself between the portrait and the Gryffindor. One hand reached behind him and pushed Harry back. Harry recognized it not to be a violent action meant to hurt him, but a message. He gladly took the cue and went up the stairs. At the top of it, he sat down. With great interest he listened to the polite chatter Malfoy had engaged Mrs. Black in. After apologizing several times more, she seemed to have calmed down a little bit, and the two of them engaged in a conversation in which Harry's name was mentioned an awful lot. Both parties seemed very happy to insult him. The conversation took a lot longer than was strictly necessary, Harry thought. When the subject reached his blood purity and the horrible consequences of a lack it, he considered going downstairs to set the two straight, but he refrained. Finally, Draco pulled back the curtains at long last and headed off to the kitchen. It was time for a long, long shower.

When Harry entered the bedroom, he found his roommate sitting on his bed, studying what seemed to be an advanced Potions book. Harry wondered if the fool still had hope that he was going back to Hogwarts next year to take his N.E.W.T.s, but decided to keep the peace and not ask. Getting in his pyjamas, Harry constantly felt like being watched. Of course, whenever he looked at Malfoy, his eyes were transfixed on the book.

'You're staring at me,' Malfoy said matter-of-factly, looking up from his textbook with an arched eyebrow, just as Harry had gotten into his pyjama pants.

'I'm not.'

'You were,' Draco said in a silky, almost singing voice.

'I wasn't,' Harry retorted briskly, and got into bed.

It didn't surprise Harry one bit that he couldn't get sleep. Malfoy had been polite enough to center the light to just his book, but it was still too light for Harry to sleep, especially when he was not really tired to begin with. Initially he had hoped that his roommate would go to sleep soon too, but his hopes had been in vain.

For the first time, Harry seriously considered giving in and moving to another room. He could move his stuff the next morning. But the stubbornness that was inherent to him simply didn't allow it. It was his bloody room and if anyone should leave, it was Draco. That having said, he had not been bothered by the Slytherin too much until now. Unlike the first night Harry had arrived, Malfoy was usually in bed and asleep by the time he made his way to their - his - bedroom. Getting into bed without waking him up was not a difficult talk, and the sound of steady breathing in the background actually helped Harry fall asleep with much more ease than usual, making it possible for him to disallow any thoughts about death or war or killings.

Shifting uncomfortably, pretending to be asleep while in fact wide awake, he set his hopes yet again on the lights switching off and Draco's breath easing into the calm and steady usual pattern. Then, maybe, Harry could get some sleep too.

His wish was granted at last. When the lights had gone off and the sound of Draco trying comfortable had subdues, he turned his head, as subtly as possible, in a one-eighty angle to look at the blonde in the dark. He had his eyes closed, lying on his back. This was not a position he had seen the young man in before, but he didn't think too much of it.

Turning to face the wall again, he shut his eyes again and tried to block out all and any thought. It didn't really work – his mind provided him with unhelpful images of Ginny pouting at the Burrow's kitchen table over his neglect – until he noticed an unusual breathing pattern developing on the other side of the room. It sounded nothing like a sleeping Malfoy, nor like the studying one. It was shorter, more irregular. Then, Harry noticed another sound. The sound of fabric-on-fabric, sheets rubbing one another.

Draco sodding Malfoy was masturbating.

The idea strangely intrigued Harry. Involuntarily, he turned to lie on his other side, his eyes still closed – for now. It amazed Harry to think that the prat had the nerve to jerk off with his sworn enemy lying not two meters away from him. Of course, Harry had been surprised by hard-ons at night as well, but he had done his utmost best to will them away, promising his body to take care of business in the shower the next morning.

No longer able to fight curiosity, he opened his eyes slightly. He could see the slight bulge in the blanket moving up and down rhythmically, slowly picking up speed as Malfoy's breathing became more unhinged. Shorter, more irregular. Draco's mouth hung slightly open and in the dark the shadows deformed his face wonderfully.

Against Harry's will, he could feel his own erection start to grow. He tried to will it away, but it was of no use.

He could see how the unoccupied hand of Malfoy made its way up his chest, settling there. Harry could envision Draco playing with his nipple. He could practically feel all of his blood rush from his brain to his nether regions and only barely managed to suppress a gasp of himself. Of course this tumult in his body was caused by the idea of how good it would feel to do that to himself right now, not by the sheer erotica of what he was witnessing.

The dirty Slytherin's hand moved faster and faster, and Harry could see Malfoy arching into his own touch. Obviously on the edge of orgasm, he had to bite down on his lip to stifle any sound coming out of him. But failed, just a little. Harry tried very hard not to think how it might have very well been the most amazing sound he had ever heard. With a few more long hard strokes, Draco came into his own hand under the cover. He lay still, out of breath, and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Harry shut his immediately.

Listening to Malfoy scrambling for his wand and muttering a quiet cleansing spell, Harry focused on willing his erection away.


End file.
